


Confessions of the Wardrobe Kind

by katling



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blackwall doesn't mind, Blackwall's not as dumb as he looks, Dorian is surprised and intrigued, Dorian's mouth gets ahead of his brain, M/M, Orlesian Balls, Orlesians being Orlesian, The Great Game, There's probably some closet jokes to be made here somewhere, Which is very hard to play once the screaming starts, You'll See When You Get There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: It's amazing what happens when you're trapped in a wardrobe during an Orlesian Ball gone wrong after pretending that you're married. Dorian's made something of a career of being quick on his feet but this is a new one even for him. What can he say? Blackwall has kind of grown on him.
Relationships: Blackwall/Dorian Pavus, Slight mention of F!Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Confessions of the Wardrobe Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morrezela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/gifts).



> Written for morrezela. I Hope you enjoy it. I wasn't quite expecting Dorian to go for the fake marriage path but he went there anyway. :D

Dorian stared at the Inquisitor with disbelief. “You want me to _what_?”

Peregrine Trevelyan, Inquisitor and (reluctant) Herald of Andraste, just sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Dorian felt a brief flash of guilt at being the cause of that action. Peregrine looked tired and run down and he knew she’d been dealing with a lot related to the siege at Adamant and the aftermath of the Masquerade Ball. He knew her Advisors helped as much as they could – as did he – but everything ultimately came to her and her decisions. While she might have been trained to run an estate as the spare to her brother’s heir, being the Inquisitor was several steps up from anything she knew.

“Look,” she began before sighing once more. “I know you don’t like it. _I_ don’t like it, but I need to send someone, and you know this sort of thing better than anyone else I could send. You told me yourself that the Game as it’s played in Tevinter is far more cutthroat than even the Orlesian version.”

Dorian would admit to preening slightly under the praise but still… “Why not send Madame Vivienne?” 

“I already asked her. The Duke apparently knows her and doesn’t like her,” Peregrine replied. “She admitted she wouldn’t be able to get anything done because of that.”

Before Dorian could say anything more, she gave him an imploring look. “I know I’m asking a lot, Dorian, but I need this settled. Preferably without bloodshed or kicking off another civil war. I trust you to be able to handle this.”

That stopped Dorian in his tracks as a warm feeling welled in his chest. He wasn’t sure when or even if he’d ever been trusted so implicitly before. He sighed and nodded. “Very well. But… why Blackwall?”

Peregrine twitched and Dorian almost regretted asking the question. The revelation of Blackwall’s true identity was still a raw wound for many people and he already knew that Peregrine was second guessing her decision to essentially pardon him given the amount of backlash she’d been receiving from certain elements within Orlais, let alone the doubts among many of her Inner Circle. Which was undoubtedly why this matter was hanging so heavily over her head.

“I need to show people that I trust Blackwall,” she said grimly. “And that I trust you.”

“Ah, the Tevinter mage and the traitor,” Dorian said with a curl of his lip. “We’ll make a lovely pair.”

“ _Dorian_ ,” Peregrine said with a hint of exasperation. “You know I don’t think that of you.”

Dorian grimaced then looked a little sheepish. “I do remember you telling Mother Giselle where to stick her prejudices,” he said in lieu of an apology.

“Unfortunately, Mother Giselle is a little more representative of Orlais than I’d like and since I can’t go around telling the entire country where to stick their prejudices…”

“You can’t?” Dorian said, affecting an innocent look.

A grin flicked over Peregrine’s face briefly. “No, I can’t. Josephine’s orders. So, since I can’t do that, I’m going to rub it in their face by sending someone I trust, but they don’t like, to their aid. Along with someone I need to be able to trust.”

“But did it have to be the unwashed oaf?” Dorian said, allowing a little whine to enter his voice even as he smirked.

“ _Dorian_ ,” Peregrine said with an amused roll of her eyes, though the little tell-tale signs of stress did not lighten at all. “Blackwall’s hygiene is perfectly fine, _as you well know_. Besides, while I’m hoping that you’ll be able to solve this without violence, I’m not holding my breath. If that happens, you’ll be thankful for Blackwall’s sword arm.”

“Oh, fine,” Dorian said, mostly because he wanted to ease at least a fraction of his friend’s burden. “I suppose he scrubbed up fairly well at Halamshiral. We’ll manage.”

“Thank you,” Peregrine said with open relief and Dorian decided that it would be worth it if it made Peregrine’s life just a fraction easier. And despite his usual grumbling – and with the proviso that he’d never admit this – Blackwall wasn’t actually such a bad person to spend time with these days. They’d gotten over their admittedly juvenile sniping somewhere in the Western Approach when Peregrine had finally had enough. That had been a memorable day. And a long one. A very long one.

So, a trip to an Orlesian mansion, complete with ball and hopefully some negotiations, would not be too onerous.

*****

Dorian was regretting many decisions he’d made in his life as the Duke’s party lurched into its fifth hour. He’d expected to be as much of a pariah as he had been at Halamshiral but apparently news of the Inquisition’s efforts there – and his part in them – had travelled fast and he found himself a subject of curiosity and interest. He’d thought he would like that but the Orlesians were setting his teeth on edge. As he politely fended off a matron and her three busty daughters, he wondered if it was the accent that made the Orlesians particularly annoying because their behaviour was certainly nothing new.

“Oh, my Lord Pavus, how delightful to meet you again,” came the tittering chorus from a brother and sister pair he’d been trying to avoid since escaping their wandering hands at the beginning of the ball. He was beginning to regret choosing to wear Tevinter finery instead of the Inquisition uniform Josephine had suggested. The uniform was an utter travesty but it did provide more in the way of fashion fortressing than the silks and linens he was wearing.

“Yes, delightful,” he said, watching with a vague sense of despair as his sarcasm sailed right over their heads. It was at times like this that he actually missed Tevinter society.

The brother and sister, possibly twins given how similar they looked, took a coy step towards him and he edged backwards an equal amount, wondering how he was going to escape them this time. Maybe the dowager he’d used last time might be willing to be his knight in pink pastel silk again? She was an excellent dancer and had a wicked sense of humour so it was no hardship to spend time with her.

“Ah, Dorian, there you are,” came Blackwall’s gruff voice and Dorian actually felt a surge of relief when he saw the other man approaching, looking surprisingly noble and handsome in the red Inquisition uniform he’d chosen to wear. Much later he would blame that for what he said next.

He smiled brightly at the siblings. “Have you met my husband? Blackwall, darling, this is Etienne and Charmaine de Verthen. My Lord and Lady de Verthen, this is my husband, Blackwall.”

He resolutely did not look over to see what kind of expression was on Blackwall’s face, but it must not have been one of surprise or shock or disgust or anything like that as the siblings started to pout.

“You did not say you were married, Messere,” Charmaine said sulkily.

“It’s very recent,” Blackwall rumbled, much to Dorian’s surprise since he’d thought the comment had been directed at him. Maybe it had but either way, Blackwall obviously felt comfortable fielding it. “I haven’t even had a chance to get him a proper ring. Skyhold being out the back of beyond and our lives being very busy and all. I was hoping to do so on this trip.”

Dorian had wondered where Blackwall was going with all of that but as Charmaine fluttered and Etienne perked up and they both began recommending jewellers, he was abruptly reminded that Blackwall – or rather Thom Rainier – had once moved through social echelons very adjacent to these. He knew far more about how the Game was played than he usually let on and now that his secret was out, he clearly felt he didn’t need to hide whatever proficiency he possessed anymore. It was, Dorian had to admit, very intriguing.

He watched with interest as Blackwall nodded and made all the right comments before detaching them from the siblings without any further pouting or arguments. It was rather masterful and Dorian found that he was reluctantly impressed.

“You have been keeping your light under a bushel, haven’t you?” he said archly as they made their way through the crowd. Blackwall twitched and Dorian grimaced. “That… wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know,” Blackwall said shortly, placing one hand on Dorian’s back as he ushered them out onto a balcony and closed the doors behind them. The light from the ballroom shone through the glass but the lack of noise was a decided relief.

“I, er… apologise for the whole… marriage thing,” Dorian said as he leaned against the balustrade. “The de Verthens are…”

“Sleazy?” Blackwall said with a chuckle as he settled against the balustrade himself, closer than Dorian was expecting. He then remembered they could still be seen so Blackwall’s closeness would uphold Dorian’s lie. Also, Blackwall gave off a decent amount of heat which he appreciated. “Don’t worry about it.” Blackwall paused and snorted. “Their parents were much the same. I remember them from… back then.”

“Did you work for them?” Dorian asked. He was more than a little curious about who Thom Rainier had once been. He was one of the few who hadn’t questioned why Blackwall continued to use the Warden’s name. He understood wanting to start anew.

Blackwall grimaced. “Once or twice. I worked for anyone who would pay me enough. I wasn’t very discriminatory.” He shook his head. “I should have been.”

“Sackcloth and ashes are not a good look,” Dorian said with a sniff.

Blackwall turned away from the ballroom to hide his growing frown. “You think I shouldn’t regret what I did?” he growled.

“Of course not,” Dorian said with a roll of his eyes. “But the self-flagellation is tiresome and it’s frustrating and annoying Peregrine.”

Blackwall was silent for a moment. “But I…”

Dorian gave a flick of one hand. “Made a rather ghastly and grisly mistake which you regret deeply and have been atoning for ever since. We know.” He shifted slightly. “No one is saying to throw it off like it never happened, but I think Peregrine and many others would appreciate a shift from morose and brooding to something more like determined and humble.”

Blackwall’s frown deepened a little more but before he could reply, the screaming started from inside the ballroom. Dorian suddenly felt like he was back home and not in a good way.

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwall snapped as he reached for a sword he wasn’t wearing. “Do we go in?”

Dorian darted over to the door and was about to say yes when one of the would-be assassins spotted him. From the expression on the man’s face, it wasn’t hard to figure out who the actual targets were. Thankfully, the now-panicked crowd was hindering the assassin’s progress, buying them some time.

“No,” Dorian said, casting a quick spell to jam the doors. “Exactly how far are we off the ground and how much is it going to hurt to jump?”

He thanked the Maker that Blackwall was actually smarter than he looked as the man didn’t argue with him and just glanced over the side of the balcony. 

“There’s a balcony below us.”

“Well, this should be fun,” Dorian said as they climbed over the balustrade and lowered themselves down in a strange mix of urgency and care. “I see why you insisted on leaving our weapons and armour with our horses.”

“Cullen and Leliana might have made a few suggestions,” Blackwall huffed as they dropped onto the lower balcony.

“I thought Cullen still wasn’t speaking to you,” Dorian observed lightly as Blackwall forced the door to the balcony open.

“He isn’t,” Blackwall grunted. “But the Commander of the Inquisition does when I’m on official Inquisition business.”

“Well, that’s cumbersome,” Dorian replied. “Why don’t you just drag him onto the practice grounds and let him beat on you for a while? Isn’t that how you Southern barbarians solve your differences?”

Blackwall gave a gruff bark of laughter. “I’ve tried that. I think he’s taking umbrage on behalf of the Inquisitor.”

“Well, he is very fond of her,” Dorian said in what had to be one of the grandest understatements of his life. He opened the door of the room they were in, only to find a pitched battle going on in the hallway. He shut the door again. “I’m beginning to think this isn’t just about us.”

Blackwall raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“There were assassins in those harlequin outfits looking for us upstairs but the soldiers outside are wearing the colours of the Grand Duke de Chalons.” Dorian paused. “The late Grand Duke de Chalons.”

“Didn’t the Duke support the Grand Duke?” Blackwall said as he looked around, clearly searching for something he could use as a weapon.

“Well, you know these Orlesians,” Dorian said lightly as he considered their options and, not so incidentally, locked the door. “They don’t need much of an excuse for a centuries long feud.”

“True,” Blackwall grumbled.

Whatever he was about to say next was lost when the door handle rattled and that was followed by the thud of someone putting their shoulder to the door. 

“Blast!” Dorian exclaimed. He glanced around then grabbed Blackwall’s arm and dragged him over to the large wardrobe standing against the wall. He shoved the man inside and quickly followed, closing the wardrobe door just as the soldiers forced the door to the room open.

Dorian listened carefully to the soldiers, who didn’t appear to be looking for them, and thus it took a few minutes before he realised two things. Firstly, that for all that the wardrobe looked quite large on the outside, between the clothes, hat boxes and a valise or two, there wasn’t all that much room for two grown men on the inside and they were pressed together in a fashion that wasn’t quite uncomfortable. The second thing was that Blackwall was very warm and he was wearing some sort of scent, something solid and earthy and just slightly woody. In the warm darkness of the wardrobe, it was… very pleasant actually.

He shifted slightly into a more comfortable position and felt more than heard Blackwall’s indrawn breath. He then realised that Blackwall was holding himself very, very still but had one hand resting gently low against Dorian’s back. He couldn’t see Blackwall’s face but the epiphany hit him like a siege hammer. He shifted again, a bit closer this time, and felt Blackwall shudder and the hand pulled him closer for a fraction of a second before relaxing.

Dorian split his attention between listening to the soldiers bickering in the room outside their wardrobe and contemplating this new information. It was certainly true that he hadn’t much cared for Blackwall at first but since Peregrine favoured taking him, Blackwall and Cassandra on her jaunts, he’d spent many months sharing a tent with the faux Warden. They had, perforce, had to learn to get along with each other. He knew that many of his complaints these days were more out of habit and the urge to tease than out of any rancour or dislike. He hadn’t realised that Blackwall was doing much the same.

Now he had to decide what to do about this information. He could ignore it. That seemed to be the path Blackwall was taking, likely because he thought Dorian wouldn’t be interested and also probably his urge towards self-flagellation. The question was… did Dorian want to ignore it? When he wasn’t twitting Blackwall about any number of things, he could acknowledge the man was handsome in a rather hirsute sort of way. He was certainly a skilled warrior and now that he wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t, there were definite signs of a sharp and agile mind underneath all the hair and beard. 

Did he like Blackwall? If he was being honest with himself, he did. Especially since a lot of the man’s more excruciatingly noble edges had been ground off by the revelation of his past. It probably said something not so good about Dorian that he liked the man more knowing about his past but… Tevinter was what it was and Dorian had never claimed to be a good man himself. The fact that Blackwall was trying to atone made Dorian think that the man was more likely to understand than the more genuinely noble members of the Inquisition.

But did that mean he wanted anything more than friendship? He suspected Blackwall might not object to a simple roll in the hay but did Dorian want that? He certainly _expected_ it. It was all he’d ever had in Tevinter. But his time in the Inquisition had shown him that he _could_ have more, that it wasn’t wrong to want more. It was a scary thought and yet… Blackwall did seem the sort to be a ‘more’ sort of person. Maybe it might be worth trying?

While he’d been thinking about all of that, the soldiers had finished their rudimentary search of the room and were now apparently gathered at the door, waiting for something that Dorian couldn’t quite work out. He pursed his lips and then carefully leaned into Blackwall. He got a sudden indrawn breath then the arm around him tightened and after a moment of hesitation pulled him close.

“Dorian?” Blackwall breathed.

“Shush,” Dorian murmured as he raised his hands to feel his way around Blackwall’s face. Once he was sure of where he was, he buried his hands in Blackwall’s beard and pulled him into a kiss.

Blackwall stiffened for a moment, more out of shock than disgust Dorian was sure, then he gave a low, almost silent growl and wrapped both arms around Dorian, practically plastering them together as he kissed back.

Dorian was more than willing to admit that this was, hands down, the best kiss he’d ever had. Blackwall kissed with a great deal of experience, a great deal of passion and with a fervour Dorian had never been on the receiving end of before. He plunged his hands into Blackwall’s hair as he returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm. Blackwall was a wall of warmth against him and he was surrounded by whatever scent the man was using. It was altogether utterly delightful.

When they finally separated, the room outside the wardrobe was quiet, though they could very dimly hear the sounds of battle in the house.

“Dorian,” Blackwall said in a hoarse voice that made the mage preen a little. “What… is this?”

“I would have thought even you would recognise a kiss,” Dorian replied as he very reluctantly peeled himself away from Blackwall and eased the wardrobe door open a sliver. Seeing that the room was empty, he edged his way out of the wardrobe and Blackwall followed.

“Why did you kiss me?” Blackwall demanded as they headed for the door.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “Is now really the time to have this conversation?”

Blackwall hesitated and Dorian thought he might just have gotten a reprieve. It didn’t matter that he’d reasoned his way mostly through it in his mind, having to actually _talk_ about things never got easier. His hopes of avoidance were quickly dashed when Blackwall opened the door, stuck his head out into the corridor for a moment then closed the door and gently pushed Dorian against it.

“We’ve got time,” Blackwall said firmly. “I don’t appreciate being played with.”

Dorian huffed and picked at the brocade on Blackwall’s jacket. “I’m not playing. Do I know what this is? No, not really. Do I want to see if it can be defined? Well… yes, why not?”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” Blackwall said slowly.

Dorian huffed again and rolled his eyes. “You’re not _that_ dim.”

Blackwall fell silent and simply stared at him. Dorian squirmed a little under the regard then he scowled and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. 

“It doesn’t take this long to say no.”

Blackwall gave a start. “I’m… not saying no.”

“But you’re not saying yes, either.”

“You caught me by surprise,” Blackwall said with exasperation. 

“You kissed back.”

“Not that much surprise.” Blackwall sighed and bowed his head. “Dorian, I’m not…”

Dorian raised his hand and pressed his fingers to Blackwall’s mouth to silence him. “I really don’t care about whatever self-deprecating thing was about to come out of your mouth. You’re hardly the only person in the Inquisition to have something dark in their past.”

“I know that,” Blackwall said, scowling. “I just…”

“And frankly, I rather prefer the dark past,” Dorian continued blithely. “All the nobility was enough to set my teeth on edge and make mmph!”

Their second kiss was just as much of a surprise as the first and just as good. Dorian clutched at Blackwall’s jacket, pulling him close, humming into the kiss as he was pressed against the door. He’d always rather liked that feeling and Blackwall had enough bulk to make it very pleasant. At least until the shouting started again and they pulled apart.

“Well,” Dorian began, his voice somewhat croaky. He stopped and cleared his throat. “I suppose we’d better get out of here until we discover why the mayhem is occurring.”

Blackwall nodded slowly. “Aye, that we should.” They stepped away from the door but before Dorian could open it, Blackwall caught his wrist and pulled him in close again. “But as soon as we’re safe, we’re going to… discuss this a bit further.”

Dorian’s lips curled in a coy smile. “A _discussion_ , eh? I’ll have you know that I am an _excellent_ linguist.”

Blackwall’s rumbling laughter rolled over him, deep and thrilling, as he opened the door. The hallway was clear and they set off towards the stables at a jog. Dorian wasn’t sure what was going to happen in the immediate future but for the longer term? He had to say it was looking very promising.


End file.
